


The Devil Will Drag You Under

by demon_sloth



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, description of a panic attack, it's very dramatic, juno gets shot, let's just go with both, or anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_sloth/pseuds/demon_sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupiter Tumblr prompts - warnings added for each chapter so make sure you check</p><p>I'll possibly turn these into longer fics later if I like them :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 44. “This suit is too tight.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of three prompts requested by Roomfullofdaisies

Juno makes a noise of frustration deep in the back of his throat and shifts uncomfortably in the tux Peter managed to talk him into. He can feel it pull across his shoulders, restricting his movement and making the holster for his laser gun dig sharply into his ribs. He scowls and tries to adjust it once again, making it worse. “This suit is too tight.”

Peter turns from admiring his reflection at Juno’s disgruntled voice to see him tugging at his shirt cuffs and spoiling the line of his suit. He huffs out a fond laugh that has Juno glaring at him from across the room.

“It’s not funny, Nureyev.” Juno yanks at his sleeve again, trying to pull the entire thing away from his chest so he can breathe easier and sees Peter bite down on his smile. Stupid, smug little-

“Of course not, Juno.” Peter says softly, and damn it - that’s not supposed to make him feel bad. Juno is pissed and he wants to stay pissed. He didn’t want to go along to this gallery opening at the Metropolitan Museum. The entire night is going to be filled with rich people fawning over richer people. It’ll probably be broadcast across the entire Hyperion network by the Kanagawa’s as well. 

Juno is much more at home in the hole-in-the-wall galleries that pop up through the city. Closed off spaces and cramped quarters filled with people who love the grass-roots movement. They’re nights filled with experimentations in art, cheap booze that reminds him of his childhood and a lack of personal space.  _ Those _ are the nights he enjoys. Not this.

“Juno.”

And suddenly Peter is there, making Juno’s breath catch in his throat. He ducks his head to hide the expression that he knows must be plastered across his face. Hopefully Peter won’t say anything. He can feel himself start to heat up and it’s with some despair that he comes to the realisation that his ears are probably bright red. Damn suit needs ventilation.

Peter’s hands come into view, nudging away his own hands. Graceful fingers gently tug his suit back into place and smooth away the wrinkles he put into it. Juno refuses to raise his head as those hands travel up his arms to fix his collar and brush along his shoulders. He swallows sharply at the soft touches against his throat.

“Nureyev-” he cuts himself off, not sure if he meant it as a warning or an entreaty. Peter steps closer into his space anyway and Juno next breath escapes his lips as a sigh, his eyes flutter shut.

“Juno,” Peter murmurs as his hands slips down the front of his body. It would be  _ so easy _ to take that last half step. Peter’s hands freeze. “Juno, is that your gun?” His voice is a mixture of appalled fondness.

Juno’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Uh-” he says eloquently, “no?”

“ _ Juno, _ ” Peter chides through his smile, “this is an  _ exhibition _ . You’re supposed to take the night off and do nothing but look at art and drink expensive champagne.”

“Hey,” Juno says, “the last time I went to one of these shindigs someone tried to kill me and then I got arrested for something I didn’t do. You'll have to excuse a guy if he’s a little wary.”

Peter frowns and returns his gaze to the suit and Juno feels like an ass. It doesn’t last long as Peter unbuttons him and shoves his hands under his jacket causing Juno to suck in a sharp breath and forget everything he’d been doing as his brain short-circuits. 

Under Peter’s knowledgeable hands his suits falls into it’s proper place, lying beautifully against his body. It’s not until Peter raises an eyebrow that Juno realises he’s grabbed onto him. He clears his throat as Peter flashes him a toothy smirk, or at least he tries to because at the hint of fang he chokes.

Peter snorts and his smirk melts into something softer, more intimate. With his holster adjusted his jacket is finally allowing Juno to breathe properly. He takes in Peter as the man re-fastens his jacket and makes final last-minute tweaks. He’s beautiful, all sharp lines and painted elegance. It’s a stark contrast to Juno’s own countenance. They must look so odd to casual observers. Peter’s charming - smooth and sophisticated. 

Compare that to Juno. His broken nose that didn’t heal quite right, the pale white scar cutting across the bridge up to his brow. His red-stained hands from a childhood of martian dust mixing  into cuts and scrapes - neophyte tattoos of his past forever marking him. Peter might dress him up and style his hair but he’ll always be that gutter-rat Oldtown coughed up.

He’s not even in the same league and suddenly it’s all too much. He can feel his skin crawl beneath the suit, pin-pricks stabbing into frayed nerve endings. His breathing is speeding up and he wants to duck away, press himself against ice and claw at his own skin until he can rip it off.

Peter’s thumbs dig into the the soft flesh beneath his jaw and forces his head up. His eyes skitter away from the terribly lovely look Peter is giving him.

“Hey,” Peter murmurs, “breathe.” His hands slide up until he’s cradling Juno’s face, thumbs brushing lightly across his cheeks. “Focus on my voice.”

He continues to talk quietly into the soft space between them and slowly Juno’s panic recedes until he’s left shaken and tired. He sags forward and rests his forehead against Peter’s shoulder, making a small noise when Peter’s fingers slip up to dig into his hair. 

They breathe together.

“We don’t have to go.” Peter breaks the silence.

Juno sighs and pulls back. “No, we do.”

“Juno-”

“No.” Juno snaps, pulling away. Peter, startled, lets him. “Look,” he tries to soften his voice, frustrated with himself, “you’ve been looking forward to this for weeks and I don’t want your night spoiled just because of me.”

“It’s not-” Peter tries to say but Juno cuts him off with a ragged slash of his hand.

“Just let me… just let me  _ deal _ with this for a moment, okay? Rubbing elbows with the social elite is fine. I know what I can handle. I just need you to trust me, Peter. Please.”

Peter doesn’t argue, just offers a warm comfort as Juno pulls the cracked pieces of himself together in the chaos of their bedroom. It feels like an age before he feels ready but he does, eventually, feel ready.

He rolls his shoulders, feeling the comforting weight of the gun and looks up - just in time to have Peter swoop in a steal a kiss. He blinks as Peter fusses with his hair.

“You done or…?” His voice comes out steady and Juno is extremely grateful for it. 

Peter ignores his question, stepping back and surveying him. This time Juno’s blood heats up in a infinitely more pleasurable way. “How’s the suit?”

Juno shrugs. “It’ll do.”

Peter smirks at him. “Well think of it this way. Only a few more hours until I peel if off of you.”

Juno grins back at him. He’s not entirely better, but there’s hope. 

“It’s a date.”


	2. 8. “Fuck you.” “Yes, please.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the second of roomfullofdaisies' prompts - part 2 of the art mini-arc

It is a sign of his life retreating rapidly downhill that Juno is not even a _little_ bit surprised that the gallery show at the Metropolitan Museum turns into an all out firefight before the night is out. Luckily, at the first sign of gunfire, the patrons had disappeared like cockroaches in daylight and doesn't  _that_ say something about the company Peter keeps.

His tux is ruined, white plaster dust is everywhere from a lot of ruined exhibitions and he’s pretty sure that not even the greatest dry-cleaner this side of the galaxy will be able to save it. Not that  _ that’s  _ any great loss but Peter picked it out so he feels obligated to be annoyed. 

Juno bites back a sigh at the thought and successfully resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He peers around the edge of what used to be a very lovely marble statue of a naked man, quickly withdrawing when a barrage of laser blasts come sizzling past - narrowly missing his head and, instead, clipping the marble and vaporising it into dust and small chunks of rubble. 

Peter is ten feet away, crouching behind his own cover and fiddling with his gun. It looks like it's become jammed with grit from what used to be the companion statue to Juno’s own. The gun is one of the newer models on the market - all sleek lines and lightweight, promising rapid firepower with a short cool-down period - but it's apparently no match for the wear and tear of a real fight. Compare that to Juno’s gun which is, he’ll admit, at least thirty years old and a monster to hold but still going strong. 

Juno is just grateful that Peter has sufficient cover to fix it otherwise he'd have to do something drastic.

“I can’t believe this,” Juno mutters to himself. He can feel grit coating his tongue and the back of his throat. 

“I don’t know,” Peter says, “a little excitement gets the blood running. Make the night more interesting.”

Juno can't believe him. “What happened to taking the night off? What happened to ‘it's an exhibition - all we need to do is drink expensive alcohol and look at art?’”

Another burst of rapid laser fire and Juno has to tuck his legs closer to his body lest he gets shot. This is getting a little annoying. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place - he just wanted to be here for Peter because Peter liked this stuff. 

Peter glances up and catches Juno glaring, giving him a cheeky wink in return. 

“I don’t know how this is your fault exactly,” Juno announces. “But I know it is.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And,” Juno cuts him off, “I’m blaming you.”

Peter holds his hands out in entreaty. Juno ignores him and turns his attention back to the people currently trying to pump him full of molten plasma.

“ _ Juno! _ ”

There’s a ringing silence and Juno closes his eyes for a brief moment. Oh for the love of-

“Don’t.” He breathes softly.

“Juno Steel!”

“Honey.” Peter’s voice sounds far too amused for his own good.

“Peter. Don’t.” Juno says, refusing to look at him and instead glaring at the chunk of marble which is all that’s left of his shield. “Please just...don’t.”

“ _ Juno Steel!  _ We know you can hear us! _ ” _

“They seem to be calling your name, Darling.”

Juno can  _ feel  _ Peter smirking and he wants to both kiss and punch it off his face. He settles for rubbing his mouth to help resist the urge. 

_ Damn it _ .

“We’re here for you!”

“Well,” Peter says oh-so-smugly.

“Are you done?” Juno mutters, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Not quite.” 

Peter cocks his gun and grins, flashing just a hint of tooth because he knows what that does to Juno and he’s absolutely shameless with it.

Juno decides he just needs to take it. Just swallow the bitter pill and let Peter get this out of his system. It’ll hurt, but he’s almost positive he can make it without shooting him anywhere important. 

“Because it occurs to me,” Peter continues, amusement bleeding into his voice with every passing second. Juno revises his previous estimation to ‘pretty positive he won’t shoot him somewhere Juno will miss terribly’. “And correct me if I’m wrong here, it seems to be  _ you _ they’re looking for. Not me. Which,” Peter pauses for completely unneeded dramatic effect, “I believe, would make this entire thing  _ your fault _ , not mine.”

Juno has a perfectly valid argument, he’s just focusing on not getting shot. “Fuck you.”

“Yes, please.”

This time Juno glares at him properly. Peter blows him a kiss, completely unfazed with the fact that Juno is  _ planning to shoot him _ .

“Jun-”

“I  _ heard you  _ the  _ first time! _ ” Juno yells. The silence that follows is almost deafening.

Juno ignores Peter shaking with suppressed laughter and leans around what’s left of his cover ready to fire back. His gun is solid in his hands and he’s had time to work out roughly where their enemies are thanks to the angle of the shots he’s been avoiding.

There’s a burst of light and a massive kick that spins him around - gun clattering across the floor as he breaks his fall with his face.

Somewhere, very far away, he can hear a faint voice calling his name. There are black spots swimming in his vision as his eyes roll in his head and a vague sensation of someone tugging on his jacket. Then something knocks his arm. He sucks in a sharp breath and agony slams into him until it’s all he can do to breathe. His entire arm feels like it’s being flayed slowly by red hot knives and he’s paralysed with it - unable to do anything but stare upwards.

It takes a moment for his mind to make sense of what he’s seeing. Peter is standing over him, not even close to being behind cover, and completely ignoring the blasts being aimed at him. His face is twisted in murderous rage. In one hand is his gun, continuously firing at the people who'd ambushed them, and in his other he holds a small metal ball that pulses with blue light.

The pulses get faster and Peter winds up before lobbing it across the room. It’s barely left his hand before he drops back down behind the statue and covers Juno’s body with his own.

The entire room lights up and there’s a muted crack just before everything on the other side goes up in the biggest explosion Juno has ever had the misfortune of being privy to. Chunks of what Juno supposes was once art rains down on them.

And then, suddenly, there is only silence. 

Peter shifts and rubble slips off his back and patters to the floor around them. And then he’s  _ there _ and Juno can no longer see the deep structural cracks running across the gallery ceiling and is left with Peter.

Peter who is murmuring his name over and over again and looking absolutely  _ wrecked _ . He’s pressing shaking hands on Juno’s face and neck, brushing across his torso and fluttering around the wound on his arm. Juno’s grateful at his restraint because, while the pain is withdrawing into something a little more manageable, it’s only just under what he can handle without passing out.

“Please,” Peter begs, “Juno,  _ please. _ ”

“Was that a grenade?”

Peter jerks and stills. Wide, panic-filled eyes staring at him. “Juno,” he breathes, brushing a light caress over Juno’s cheeks with shaking hands. His throat closes on him and he chokes out Juno’s name again as he collapses over him, pressing their foreheads together. “I thought…” he whispers into the quiet space between them, “I thought…”

“Peter, was that a  _ grenade? _ ”

“I saw you go down.” Peter is still shaking as Juno reaches up with his good arm and grabs a fistful of Peter’s shirt. “You didn’t move. I saw you-”

“Why did you have a grenade? Why is that a thing you were carrying?”

Peter cuts him off with a hard kiss. It tastes of plaster and iron. He pulls back when they’re both gasping for air and Juno licks his lips once before Peter is pressing down on him again, teeth clacking together in his desperation to get as close as possible. 

It’s a long while until he pulls away enough for Juno to get his bearings. He’s still extremely pale and his eyes are red-rimmed. Dust is coating everything, turning his hair and suit grey.

“We should probably leave.”

He blinks at Peter. “What?”

“Can you move?” Peter moves off from where he’d been straddling Juno’s hips.

“I-” Juno tries to catalogue everything his body is screaming at him, “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Peter reaches under him, being very careful with his arm, and scoops him up, “I’ve got you.”

Despite Peter’s best efforts, his arm is still jolted and he lets out a yelp. Peter makes a small noise in the back of his throat and tightens his grip. Juno’s about to snap at Peter to put him down when he gets a good look at the other end of the hall and stops.

It’s completely destroyed. Whoever it was after him has been wiped from the face of existence by Peter.

Peter whose eyes are still wild in a face tight with worry. Peter who’s taking the utmost care of him and is echoing every pained gasp Juno makes with one of his own. Peter who is carrying Juno out of a literally bombsite to avoid the authorities - the sirens of which Juno can hear getting closer.

Juno is hit with the realisation that this is it for him and, despite the pain he’s in, he ducks his head into Peter’s shoulder to hide his smile.

He’s not particularly upset.


End file.
